


Fortunate Resolutions of In-Field Complications a.k.a. Dumb Luck

by Katharoses, Lasenby_Heathcote



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Banter, Basically I made everything up, Innacurate geography, Innacurate military operations, Innacurate science, M/M, References to POWs, Smoking, Vomit, Wartime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 01:57:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11071656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katharoses/pseuds/Katharoses, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lasenby_Heathcote/pseuds/Lasenby_Heathcote
Summary: The mission was simple. The mission wasn't anything at all. We didn't have to fight, we didn't have to break in or steal anything or blow anything up - or at least nothing specific. The mission was simply to create a lot of bluster in the wrong direction. But then, the mission doesn't always go according to plan.





	Fortunate Resolutions of In-Field Complications a.k.a. Dumb Luck

**Author's Note:**

> All historical, military or geographical information contained within this story is nonsense. Basically it's just a mad romp around the countryside with The Howling Commandos and nothing should be treated seriously. 
> 
> Written for the Captain America Reverse Big Bang 2017
> 
> Amazing art by samthebirdbae
> 
> Beta read by AgentCoop

 

 

_REPORT_

_Special Unit missions_

_Unit codename Howling Commandos_

_Commander Captain Steven Rogers_

_August 1944_

_Mission Parameters: Intercept convoy of Hydra personnel. Capture for information gathering._

_Mission Status: Explosive diversion resulted in interception of convoy. Hydra agents killed in action or suicide via cyanide pill. Three guards captured alive, detained for questioning. Briefcase of files recovered. Multiple vehicles decommissioned._

 

_REPORT_

_Special Unit mission_

_Unit codename Howling Commandos_

_Commander Captain Steven Rogers_

_October 1944_

_Mission Parameters: Delivery of supply trucks to Lafayette_

_Mission Status: Met with heavy resistance. Attacked on sight. Casualties._

 

_REPORT_

_Special Unit Missions_

_Unit codename Howling Commandos,_

_Commander Captain Steven Rogers_

_October 1944_

_Mission Parameters: Locate and assess Hydra outpost, rumoured Ayon Valley._

_Mission Status: Hydra outpost located, Ayon Valley, 65 km west of Rouchforte. Compound surveilled, assessment: munitions factory. Personnel : labourers- mostly POWs, soldiers, armed transport. Alarm triggered, special unit forced to move in. Combatants subdued, prisoners released, factory decommissioned. Weapons samples retrieved to H. Stark. Collected: files, and one tank - operational with surface defacement_.

  


“Your unit is gaining a bucket load of attention Captain. So much so that HQ is considering pulling you to another region entirely, except no other commander wants to deal with you. We’re prepared to give you a lot of leeway because you get the job done but you’re not on the chorus line anymore Rogers, this is the United States Army! And your damn Sergeant is stopping the motor pool from repainting that repossessed tank. We can't use the damn thing while it still reads “Die Nazi Scum” across its front. While I commend your team on its effects for uplifting morale, that is a functional machine that we could use-” Colonel Phillips stopped mid rant to inhale deeply, and grabbed some pages from his desk.

“We have a delicate mission ahead of us Captain.”

“My team is ready for anything you put to them sir.” Captain Rogers stood at attention, eyes following his commander around the tent. The Colonel threw his pen down on the desk in distaste. It landed with a slap and rolled off and onto the floor.

“They better be, because they have precisely no time to do it in, and to make matters worse - the Germans already know what you’re about to do.”

  


_Steven G Rogers, Captain US Army_

_Post mission debrief._

_Our mission was assigned to us by Colonel Phillips. The Howling Commandos, in concert with a team lead by Agent Carter, were tasked, by means of misdirection and distraction to provide cover for Agent Carter's team to enter Verdon, retrieve a classified item and exit without detection. Therefore it was vital that our cover drew maximum attention from Verdon for as long as possible. The precise nature of our distraction was devised at the discretion of our unit, and was chosen to aid in concert a member of the French Resistance._

_Further requirements deemed that the actions of my unit were best to mimic those of Agent Carter's team to provide misdirection of information, while still drawing maximum attention._

_Due to unforeseen circumstances, adjustments to mission parameters were made in-field_ …

 

 

The mission was simple. The mission wasn't anything at all. We didn't have to fight, we didn't have to break in or steal anything or blow anything up - or at least nothing specific. The mission was simply to create a lot of bluster in the wrong direction. But then, the mission doesn't always go according to plan.

The Germans troops had gotten used to the Howling Commandos, had begun to expect them, and were now actively seeking them out. Anytime the Howlies ventured out, they were met with larger and larger forces set to stop them from completing their mission. They were too conspicuous. So Colonel Phillips had the bright idea to use that to the Allieds advantage. He estimated that if the Germans stuck to past precedent regarding combatting the Howlies, the next time the crack SSR team was spotted, most of the enemy resources in the area would be expended to stop them completing whatever they were trying to do.  


“Why don't they just call it Operation Wild Goose Chase?”

“Dugan,” the Captain warned him. The Howling Commandos were gathered in the briefing room as Captain Rogers apprised them of their latest orders.

“No, but really. We're their finest unit! And we're asked to what? Flirt with the Germans, lead them on?”

“We're also their most conspicuous unit. They can spot the Captain's shield and your bowler hat at 2000 yards.” interjected Monty.

“Which is _why_ ,” Captain Rogers stressed to redirect the conversation, “we will be taking the attention away from Agent Carter and her team as they retrieve the item in question.”

Dugan kicked the corner of his chair, boot slipping and kicking Barnes’s leg instead.

“I'd still feel a lot better if a few of us could be on that mission with them. It's gonna be a tough one, any they could always use the backup.”

Sgt Barnes shook his head and kicked back, “Can't risk it. If we're not all seen together, any German scout with a handful of brain cells would think that it's a ruse. We hafta go all in.”

“And what do you know about brain cells, Barnes?”

“More than you, Dum Dum, seeing as I've actually got some.”

Whistles and jeers erupted around the group and Dugan tipped the edge of his signature bowler hat in the resident sniper's direction. Their Captain rapped his knuckles on the desk to bring their attention around.

“Any other questions?”

“Where will we be headed?”

Rogers waved his arm over the map on the desk between them. “Take your pick.”

Dernier spoke up, pulling the map towards him. Jones looked over where he was pointing, nodded and passed on the suggestion.

“French Resistance has someone to pull out of Hargest, 50-odd miles West. Two birds, one stone, Captain?”

Rogers looked around the group of seated men, eyes asking the simple question - _do you agree?_ Met with nods all round, the Captain nodded his assent.

“We _also_ need to provide cover for our own infiltration of the decoy location. The 107th is preparing to back us if we decide we need a fighting force.”

“Can we use the tank?”

Rogers leaned back, biting his tongue and clearly exasperated. He’d just had Phillips chew him out over the damn thing, he should order Bucky to relinquish it, but as he met the eye of his best friend, the cocked grin changed his mind. He raised his hands in defeat.

“ Ahh, oh fuck it. Sure. But you’re handing it over to the motor pool for repainting once this mission is done. If that’s all, I need to liaise with Agent Carter before she moves out.”

“Geez Sarge, it’s like you love that tank more than you love - “ Morita was cut off as Captain Rogers stood up, pausing with an eyebrow raised as to invite Morita to finish what he was saying.

“-anything else.” he finished slowly, meeting the Captain's eyes confidently, but with just enough emphasis on the words to convey his real meaning. Rogers met his look with a half smirk and turned to move away. Sergeant Barnes pulled a cigarette from a beaten up packet, popped the smoke between his lips and slid the worn box back into his chest pocket. He fished through his pants pockets for a moment before pulling out an equally worn matchbox, shaking it to his ear before striking a stick against the side.

“Well,” Barnes said around the cigarette in his teeth, his hands coming up to shelter the match as he lit the end, “the tank is bigger.”

Rogers paused mid-stride, cocking his head just enough to not be able to hide that he’d heard, and then strode purposefully away from the group.

There was a moment no one spoke and then Jones clapped Barnes on the shoulder, his other hand on his ribs, wheezing silently. Morita let out a low whistle, and Dugan chuckled. Barnes flicked his hair back, exhaling smoke, his shit-eating grin barely contained.

“Alright, give up the rest of the pack.” Dugan said, his hand outstretched. Barnes opened his arms and Jones quickly patted his jacket front, taking the cigarette box from when Barnes had just put it, and offered it round the group.

“Hey now,” Barnes tried to protest but was quickly hushed.

“No, you know the deal. You owe us a smoke each time you mouth off and make us think about you and the good Captain frisking each other in the night.”

“Really, Dum Dum? _Frisking?_ ”

The big man shrugged, pocketing the cigarette he’d just been handed. “I was tryna be polite.”

“I really don’t think I should have to pay up this time, all I did was make you think about his dick.”

“Which is enough, considering the rest of us don’t spend our free time thinking of the dicks of our superior officers while polishing our sniper rifles.”

The rest of the group cringed at the poorly made yet accurate euphemism, but nodded in agreement, leaving Barnes rolling his eyes.

“Well at least give me back my damn matches.”

  


“ _Post mission debrief, Jim Morita._

_Next morning we marched out to Hargest. We had to split our efforts because of that lousy German scout overhearing the mission, so the Captain and Frenchie and his man got to cut off to Hargest while the rest of us took the tank and the 107th as back up to the main road, set off a few flares and waited for the Germans to attack us. Pretty simple plan really, but we didn’t have a lot to time to prepare and the Germans fell for it anyway.”_

  


The tank rolled conspicuously down the road, the blue painted battle cry glaringly obvious, and the Commandos and assigned grunt unit marched cautiously alongside it, ready to dive into the surrounding forest at a moment's notice.

“Why didn’t we cover the front of the tank with a tarpaulin or something? Barnes’s paint job is making me nervous.”

“If you couldn’t have thought of that before we left, then you’re gonna hafta put up with it, unless you feel like giving up a layer of your skivvies for the job.”

“No fucking thanks, I’d rather be shot than cold.” Morita bitched. “i’m just wondering how close we’re even gonna get to Hargest before all hell breaks loose.”

“Doesn’t matter, as long as all eyes are on us.” Rogers said from the front, his red white and blue battle gear and metal shield as much of an eyesore in the gentle, green countryside as the slogan was on the broadside of the tank. He walked with purpose, eyes roaming wide, scanning ahead and around them for any sign of the enemy. They’d deliberately chosen this road for it’s proximity to cover, as well as the advantage that it’s narrow bearing meant that the tank blocked the way for any other vehicles. There was a stream that intersected the road ahead, and would act as a guide when the team planned to split up and make for the town itself, leaving the tank and fighting unit to advance via the main road. The plan was to contain any really fighting to the countryside and outskirts of the town, while Rogers, Dernier and Monty attract the attention of the guards in town, leaving Jones and LeClaire to find LeClaire’s contact. At the suggestion of Dernier, the team had chosen Hargest for its opportunity to aid a friend of his from within the French Resistance and liberate a trapped operative from within the occupied confines.

  


“ _Timothy Dugan, Howling Commando, 1944, yadda yadda, can we get this debrief on the road? I got a beer waiting for me._

_So we’d been walking all morning, Jimmy cussing about the cold - that’s James Morita, not one of the other James’s in our unit, they all seemed perfectly fine with how bloody frigid the day was or at least they kept it to themselves. Barnes wouldn’t let anybody else drive the damn tank, scared it was gunna get scratched up in the fight if you ask me, but don't ask me too loud, that Barnes has got a mean right hook. Not that we brawl with each other, we strive at all times to be the picture of military discipline, and on this day like no other. So our illustrious Captain and the infiltration team ran off into the forest and the rest of us lugs settled ourselves in at the junction of main road to Wellser and Traydon, faked a break down, and waited to be attacked.  And we were, and we kicked ‘em good. Only a handful of our own casualties, but they’ve got back alright, and well, other than the fighting I aint really got much to tell ya about the mission, you best ask one of the other fellas and let me get back to my beer.”_

_“That’ll be enough, thank you.”_

  


“ _We split from the fighting unit, made our way through the forest and entered the town. The man from the French Resistance located his, ahem, contact, and we performed an imitation seizure of an item of apparent import to cover the Resistance’s escape. It was all quite routine really.”_

_“Thank you Major Falsworth for that concise and completely unilluminating report.”_

_“My pleasure.”_

  


They used the stream bed as a map, following it as crept through the surrounding forest. The snow was scarce here, a fortunate absence of snowfall the night before meant that they weren't hindered by hiking through it, and they weren’t leaving obvious tracks that they could be followed by. The frost still held, sheltered by what tree branches were overhead, and shadowed by the mountains to their North-East, so the frozen ground crunched underfoot, and the trickle of water in the stream bed was mostly iced over.  They marched cautiously but swiftly, putting as much ground between them and the road as they could before their distraction team drew the fight.

_Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat_

“Sounds like they found the Germans,” Jones observed, gunfire and shouting piercing the distance to their left.

_Rat-a-tat-tat-tat_

_BOOM_

“ _Wahooo!”_

“Sounds like they found the tank.” Monty mused, “Barnes will be happy.”

“And Dum Dum,” Denier chuckled, as another _“Wahooo!”_ rang out.

“With all that racket the town might just be empty by the time we arrive.”

“Oh that would be a shame.” Rogers said dryly.

“I've been rather looking forward to a skirmish,” Monty continued. LeClaire, the man from the French Resistance asked Dernier a question, the two men conversing in their native tongue. Jones shook his head at them both, “They could rightly mean it, they are as mad as each other.”

The Captain to meet the Englishman’s eye in response, “Nice day for it.”

“Yes, feels rather like spring.”

  


The town of Hargest, they discovered, was split into quarters. Firstly by the main road that went East to Verdon and West to Wellser, and then by a stream flowing down the valley from the mountains to the North. It was by this stream that Rogers, Falsworth, Jones, Dernier and LeClaire entered the town, LeClaire giving directions, succintly translated and passed on by Jones, and it wasn’t long before the group was creeping towards the merchant quarter. The town was barren of life, barring the German forces themselves, indication of not just Nazi occupation, but Hydra occupation of the region. The Commandos had seen this before, towns whose whole inhabitants were enslaved as part of the Hydra workforce, save a skeleton crew of sorts who were kept within the town to serve the Germans. This was the fate of LeClaire’s contact, whose life was in jeopardy for being with the Resistance, and with each empty street they passed, Rogers and his men were glad they’d chosen this option as thier decoy. Two birds, one stone indeed.

LeClaire stopped and the group huddled in an empty shopfront, ducking out of sight of a small convoy of trucks as they thundered past, his next message muttered in French to his friend and relayed to the rest of the team.

“He says his contact is being kept working in the bakery just around the corner. He doesn’t know why there are so many vehicles in town, but he can get us into the back of the bakery and out again.”

“You two go with him, get his man, and get back to the tavern we just passed. Head south down the riverbed they way we came, don’t wait for us. I want to know what’s attracting so many trucks, and we can draw any attention North if we’re seen, give you a head start. Major, you ready to be a wild goose?”

“Should be rather fun.” Monty smiled.

They checked the coast was clear and left the building out the front, while the others left out the back, utilising a back alley shared by the shop and the bakery, and LeClaire stopped again, tapping a rhythm on a door. The back door of the bakery flew open, a pretty woman with long dark hair and a dusty apron smiling from the doorway.

“Marcel!”

“Angelique!” LeClaire exclaimed, taking the woman in his arms and kissing her fully. As thier embrace continued for an uncomfortably long time,  Jones turned to Dernier.

“I thought you said ‘contact’, not ‘mistress’.” to which Dernier shrugged in response. Jones cleared his throat, breaking apart the reunited couple.

“We need to get going before we’re seen.”

“No, no! It is safe!” Angelique replied in French, patting Jones on the cheek. She continued, panting slightly and flushed, “Most of the men left in jeeps towards Wessler, they were shouting about Commandos attacking, so we knew it must be you. And every time a truck pulled in we offered the drivers soup, which I had poisoned.They are all sick in the police house. Come, look.”

Angelique took LeClaires hand and dragged him boldy from the building, a stunned Jones and Dernier following close behind, weapons drawn. They ran up the alley beside the bakery and across the courtyard and down an adjacent street. The building she led thed to was clearly the destination for the trucks they’d seen earlier, the front steps littered with crates of varying sizes.

A quickly uttered “Captain!” was heard from inside and they were met at the door by a bemused Falsworth.

“Gentlemen, madame. Would you lads like to see what we’ve found?”

Inside the policehouse, lined up in one room were the bodies of approximately a dozen German soldiers, all groaning and pale, puddles of vomit between them. Captain Rogers was gingerly stepping around them, binding thier hands and feet together and moving any weapons to a table by the door.

“See? I told you I poisoned them.” Angelique declared proudly, kissing LeClaire again.

“The contact.” Jones explained to the others, “This is her handiwork.”

The Captain nodded in approval. “So much for a rescue mission. Dernier, see that they get out of town safely, we don’t know if anyone else is expected to show up, but best they be out of the crossfire just in case. I want to poke around here for a bit and then we can move out too.”

“It seems they were storing everything in the prison cells. Anything in particular you want us to look for?”

“Anything interesting, classified or dangerous, you know, the usual.”

The happy couple left, and the remaining men each took a cell and started pulling open crates, calling out to each other what they were uncovering.

“Paintings, sculptures and antique clocks? Nothing interesting so far.” Rogers said.

“Factory, no, laboratory equipment. Somewhat curious, but nothing exciting.” Falsworth added.

“What about you Gabe?”

“Papers, inventories, and scientific journals of someone named Ashmueller.” Jones replied.

Rogers stepped out of his cell. “Grab them, he was a contemporary of Dr Erskine.”

“Wait, Ashmueller? I just saw a case with that name on it. Here it is.” Falsworth emerged from the back of his cell, handing the others a brown leather case with a blue kercheif tied to one handle. But before anyone could open it, Dernier came dashing in.

“More trucks incoming.”

  


_“Post mission debrief of Jacques Dernier with Gabe Jones translating and annotating. What did Dernier say?”_

_“He said he took LeClaire and his contact back to the riverbed, which they followed out of town, then met us again at the policehouse, letting us know that more Germans had just come into down and were heading our way. We took the case and fled via the rooftops. The Captain and the Major set a fire for the incoming vehicles and then met us back at the bridge, where we gave the case to Captain Rogers.”_

_“And what happened next?”_

_Dernier and Jones looked at each other, Dernier muttering with a shrug._

_“You would have to ask the Captain.”_

  


The smoke from the policehouse fire was already billowing when Jones spotted the Captain’s shield glint in the light by the rail of the bridge, and he looked around for an easy way down. Patting Dernier on the shoulder, he indicated to a old iron ladder attached to the side of the tavern wall. Jones hiked himself over the ledge and started descending, Falsworth running to meet him on the ground.

“Captain!” Dernier called, lobbing the case from the rooftop to the man below. The buckle of the case released mid-air, spilling open, an odd looking piece of machinery tumbling out. Dernier watched as Rogers lept from his position behind the railing next to the bridge leaving his shield on the ground, deftly catching the device in one hand, cradling it to his chest while grabbing the case with the other. Then suddenly he was gone. No splash, no smoke, no sign of him. Just, gone.  The Frenchman stared at the space on the bridge in disbelief.

“Captain? Captain!”

“What’s all the hollering? You’re gonna give away our position!” Jones yelled up from the bottom of the ladder, with no choice left but to jump, dropping the last 10 feet to the ground.

Frenchie waved his arms around pointing from the roof to the ground, speaking so fast Jones struggled to keep up. He looked at Monty, “He said something fell out of the case when he threw it.”

“Was it a grenade? Why is he yelling? Where is it now?”

Jones listened intently to the explanation and shared the troubling response. “I don't know what that was, but it just took the Captain.”

“Took the Captain?” Monty echoed, “Took him where?”

Dernier replied and he knew the answer even before Jones translated.

“I don't know.”

  


_“What happened next, Captain?”_

_“Ah… ahem...”_

  


The ground seemed to fall out from underneath him and Rogers coughed, gasping for breath only to realise he was suddenly underwater. He kicked and flailed, releasing his grip on the case and device in his hands, letting them sink to the bottom as he fought his way to the top. Breaching the surface he took a lungful of bitterly cold air, and fought against the current of the water. He seemed to be in an underground canal, though how he came to be there he couldn't answer. Suddenly voices cried out from further up the dimly lit tunnel.

“There's somebody in the water! Mitchell! Hurry!”

Rogers grabbed hold of some brickwork and scrambled for purchase as he heard hurried footsteps approaching his position. He pulled himself out of the water as hands reached to grab him and he tuck and rolled out of reach, pulling his sidearm to face them. Water streamed from under his cowl and obscured his eyesight but he could make out three persons in front of him, two men, one stocky, one slight, and a woman in overalls.

“Steve!?”

The terse British accept cut through the air and Steve’s sight zoned in on the stunned face with auburn hair.

“Peggy?” he started, lowering his gun and shaking his head clear of water, “What are you-” he managed before falling to his knees and coughing up a lungful of water.

“Where the bloody hell did he come from?” The stocky man demanded, “Ma’am, do you know him?”

“This is Captain Rogers, the leader of the Howling Commandos special unit tasked with being our decoy. He set out this morning for Hargest, 52 miles away. At least he was supposed to be.”

“And aren’t you supposed to be in Verdon, Peg? That _was_ the mission.”

“We _are_ in Verdon, Rogers, and apparently, so are you.”

  


_“Do you need a glass of water, Rogers?”_

“ _No, I’m quite fine, thank you.”_

_“Then get on with your report.”_

_“Yes sir…”_

  


“How can this man be part of our decoy? Not only is he here, he’s dressed like a bloody chorus girl. Could you be any more conspicuous, Sir?”

“Mitchell.” Carter warned. Rogers pushed himself to his feet, cowl in hand, uniform sodden and heavy on his limbs. He seemed to hurt all over with aches that couldn’t be explained by the fighting or the water, and a deep tingling in his bones that was unsettling and new.

“Hey,” he snapped sharply, “When I was a chorus girl, we wore tights, not sidearms. And conspicuous was kinda the damn point, so me and my men would be seen and attacked and you wouldn’t. I don’t know how the hell I got here, but while I am, that’s _Captain_ Chorus Girl to you.”

“Rogers.” Carter spat, tutting loudly. The quarrelling men turned their scowls on her, for them only to fade quickly into sheepishness under her gaze.

“Now all that testosterone is out of the way, can we get back to the escape at hand?”

Steve shook some more water out of the jacket of his uniform. “Your mission, have you completed it already?”

Carter shook her head. “Verdon is less occupied than intelligence suggested. There’s no one here except cursory guards, the whole place has been systematically emptied out, and anything of use has already been trucked to Hargest. It isn’t here.”

“Hargest? That explains all the crates, they’re stacking them in the police cells for safekeeping. We raided a few. What exactly is it that you were looking for? Maybe we saw where it was stored.” Agent Carter waved over the skinny man, who’d been silent in the background all this time.

“Herr Ashmueller, could you tell Captain Rogers what it looks like? Maybe if we’re lucky, it hasn’t already been destroyed by your team in their efforts.”

“Oh no no no, that wouldn’t be good. This device, it is of great destructive power! I dread to imagine…” he shook himself before continuing, “A case. Like a doctor's case, brown leather with my name engraved on a silver plate. It has my late wife’s blue kerchief sewn around one of the handles because it is broken. The device itself is bronze in colour, the size of a soup bowl with levers and dials. It must not be handled roughly or submerged in water. If it were it could be quite catastrophic…” Herr Ashmueller trailed off, his head in his hands, shaking. Carter put her arm around his shoulder and hushed him.

Rogers stood with his hands on his hips, thinking. He glanced back at the water and then held out his cowl to Mitchell, unthreaded the straps on his jacket pulling it off his shoulders. He gave the wet, heavy jacket to the agent as well.

“Here, hold this.”

“What-” Mitchell’s objection was cut off by the clack of a buckle as he stared, watching as Rogers undid his leather belt, depositing it on top of his jacket in Mitchell’s arms before squatting down and removing the boot off each foot.

Agent Carter stood from where the scientist had sat himself down, folded her arms frowning, completing her agents unasked query. “What the hell are you doing now?”

“That case, and that device,” Rogers said, shaking the water from his boots before adding them to the growing pile, “sounds precisely like the one that Dernier just threw at me, seconds before showing up here and seeing you. And as it is now,” he unbuckled his pants, dropping them to the ground and stepping out of them, shaking them off as he went, “on the bottom of that canal, because I dropped it when I realised I needed to swim, I’m going to go get it.” finally placing the pants on top of his boots, smiling at the bulging eyes of Agent Mitchell, before saluting Agent Carter and, clad now only in a short sleeved undershirt, shorts, dog tags and socks, dove into the running water beside them.

The trio waited with baited breath as the seconds ticked over since the Captain dissappeared into the canal, the rush of the water almost deafening, when suddenly Rogers burst from underneath the surface, triumphantly holding aloft a bronze device. Agent Mitchell nearly dropped the pile of clothing in surprise, and Herr Ashmueller cried in relief.

“Always so dramatic.” muttered Agent Carter, rolling her eyes, as the Captain pulled himself out of the canal for the second time. He offered the device to the scientist and extracted his pants from the pile in Agent Mitchells arms, pulling them onto his wet legs with a modicum of difficulty.

“Is it safe?” Agent Carter asked, turning her attention to Herr Ashmueller who was fussing over the device, attempting to dry it off with the sleeve of his cardigan. Mitchell started to hand Rogers the rest of his clothing and they turned in consternation at the sound of the old man gasping.

“Oh no!"

 

Rogers blinked and groaned. That tingling ache was back in his bones, stronger and more unsettling than before, and this time he found himself curled over a rocky outcrop, buffetted by bitter wind. Agents Carter and Mitchell were on top of him, cushioned somewhat by the Captain’s remainder pile of clothing, and they quickly pulled themselves to their feet when it became apparent to them that they had moved. Herr Ashmueller was nowhere to be seen. The mountainside both above and below held no sign of him.

“Where did Ashmueller go?”

“Where did _we_ go?”

They scanned out over the countryside below them, looking for any indication of where they now were. Carter pointed left, her other hand shading her eyes.

“There, that’s the river that runs through Verdon. That’s where we were.”

Rogers strapped on his jacket, shivering in response to the cold material and pointed to the right. “And that’s the stream that we followed to Hargest. My unit is that way.”

“Who’s that moving on the road South?” Mitchell asked, drawing their attention to the forest the other side of the town they’d just identified as Hargest, where a red flare was painting the sky at a road junction and a line of vehicles could be made out moving on the road towards it.

“I’ve got another question for ya, Peg.” Rogers countered, pulling on his boots. “When did it become morning?”

“What do you mean?”

“It isnt burning.” Met with the confused looks of his companions, Rogers pointed at Hargest again and explained, “All of five mintues before I showed up in Verdon, Monty and I set fire to the Hargest policehouse. It was throwing up smoke by the bucketful when I caught that device but now,” he looked out at the clear sky over the town, “there’s nothing. And that flare, was the one my Howlies put up to draw the Germans from the surrounding areas, and they put it up _before_ I set foot in that town. The policehouse isn’t burning, because I haven’t lit it yet.”

Carter stared at him in disbelief, “So you think the device not only transported us over a distance, but back in time as well?”

“Let’s just say, if my theory is correct, we may get back to Hargest just in time to see me disappear.” he declared dramatically, before setting a demanding pace down the mountain. Carter and Mitchell ran down the slope after him, yelling periodically at Rogers to slow down. He stopped when the mountainside levelled out onto farmland and waited while they caught up.

“Steve, Steve! We can’t let the army know a device like this exists!”

Rogers splayed his arms in a gesture of helplessness, “Right now we can’t definitively say that it does anymore.”

“How do you plan to explain us climbing down a mountain? Or how we even got out here in the first place?” Mitchell complained, winded and bewildered. He leaned his palms on his knees and tried to catch his breath. Captain Rogers leaned against a tree, watching him.

“Have you ever heard of selective reporting?”

Mitchell raised his head enough to glare at the other man, “You mean, we don’t tell them everything.”

“You’re catching on quick, we’ll make an Agent of you yet Mitchell.”

“As long as you don’t make a Howlie of him, there’s quite enough of them to go around already.” Peggy quipped, “Come on, you’ve got a theory to prove, Captain.” and she set off down the farm road towards the town.

  


_“Post mission debrief, Seargent James Barnes reporting. As second in charge, it was my decision to pursue the Germans back to Hargest to ensure valuable military equipment was not taken by enemy forces.”_

_“Are you trying to tell me, Sergeant Barnes, that instead of returning to camp, you continued the fight, just so that you could make sure the Germans didn’t take your tank?”_

_“No, Colonel, I’m trying to tell you we went to make sure the Germans didn’t take our Captain.”_

  


Dernier, Jones and Monty were debating the merits of thier situation. They’d looked high and low for the Captain and found no sign of him. But now jeeps were returning from the Western road, meaning the skirmish with the 107th was over and the rest of thier team would be waiting to rendezvous with them. The best decision would be for them to leave, but it was a decision that none of them wanted to make. They looked to the shield at thier feet, the red, white and blue reminder of what they would be leaving behind if they did.

BOOM

The building shook as brick debris scattered itself through the air, the percussion ringing loudly in their ears, that they almost missed the accompanying warcry.

“Wahoo!”

They looked at each other, grins spreading across their dusty faces. A quick peek above the window ledge confirmed their hopes - Barnes, Dugan, Morita and the fighting 107th had made it to Hargest. From there it was fairly short-lived, the remaining German forces in town, most of whom had been fleeing the skirmish with the 107th in the first place, were quick to surrender upon seeing their town had no forces either. Jones, Dernier and Monty scampered from their hiding place and dashed down the road to the action, and rejoined the rest of their team.

“Good to see ya boys! Didn’t spot ya at the rendezvous, so we thought we’d come give you a hand!” Dugan called out, waving gleefully from where he was gathering surrendering German soldiers. Morita was scouting through the people standing, seeing who was hurt and Barnes, as de facto team leader, swung himself out of the tank pulpit and marched their way, looking far from happy.

“Why are we chasing your asses here? You should have been halfway back to camp by now? Where the hell is Steve?”

“Barnes, he’s-” Jones turned to Monty, who pulled his arms from the straps and offered the shield to their Sergeant without a word. Barnes looked down at it and back up at his friend.

“He’s what, Gabe? Are you telling me-”

“No, at least, we don’t know. He just disappeared.”

Sergeant Barnes’s look of fury turned to murder. “If he’s not dead somewhere, I swear I’m gonna kill him.”

“Kill who?”

The stunned faces of the Howling Commandos whipped round to meet the sight of not only  thier Captain grinning back at them, but also a windswept Agent Carter and a stocky, winded man they introduced as Agent Mitchell.

“Where the hell have you been?”

Rogers shrugged, breifly meeting the eye of Agent Carter and leaned over to take back his shield and strap it onto his arm.

“Out for a stroll?” he offered.

Barnes looked like he wanted to scream when suddenly his face dropped and he shoved Morita to the ground, spinning and pulling his sidearm from his holster. As everyone else reacted in instinct to the indication of threat, a shot rang out from the Seargents gun, and they turned to see a officer fall from an upper window, the grenade he’d thrown sailing through the air. Rogers just as smoothly lept onto the crouched shoulder of Agent Mitchell, lauching himself through the air towards the airborne missile, and with a swing of his shield, punched it out of it’s trajectory and threw it off course and away from where they were gathered. The grenade flew on it’s new path only moments before striking the open hatch of the tank and tumbling into it’s cockpit. A muffled _boom_ emited from the tank, followed by a shower of metal debris and smoke.

  


_“And where was the Captain?”_

_“Out for a stroll.”_

  


“You destroyed my tank!”

“C’mon Buck, look at it this way, now you don’t have to hand it over to the motor pool for repainting.”

Barnes dug his thumbs into his belt and turned a cold hard glare to his best friend.

“You did that because I said the tank was bigger, didn’t ya Steve?”

Rogers face was akin to that of a child feigning innocence with his hand caught in the cookie jar. Barnes’s glare didn’t let up and Rogers face broke into a smile.

“Are you really gonna stay mad at me? We survived.”

Barnes continued to stare out over the bridge at the steady flow of water below, not answering his friend.

“If you’re not going to apologise for wandering off, could you explain one thing, Steve?”

“Anything, Buck.”

Barnes walked to the other side of the bridge and looked over, motioning for Rogers to follow. Steve did, peering down onto the trickle of water seeping its way under shards of ice stuck around the rocks of the tiny riverbed. He raised his eyebrows in confusion.

“That’s the stream we marched up to get to the Hargest.” Steve supplied, unsure of the point his friend was making.

Barnes then walked back to where he’d been before, the sound of the water louder as Steve followed, peering over the rail, the flow of water this side of the bridge disproportionately larger than what he saw over the rail, a mere 20 feet away.

The Captains jaw dropped, and he stood back and looked at his friend, dazed.

“Ok, maybe not _anything._ ”

“So what are you gonna tell the army?”

After a quick check to make sure the coast was clear, the Captain linked his arm through the Sergeants, pulling him into his side and gave him a gentle kiss on the lips. The Sergeants scowl softened and, arm in arm, they slowly made their way off the bridge and down the road.

“I’m sure we can come up with a story on the way back.”

  


“ _Well Captain? What did you do after receiving the case?”_

_“...Using information gathered from my debrief with you and Agent Carter prior to the mission, I ascertained the device inside was a grave danger to my unit and sought to remove it and myself from the line of fire. When the remainder of my unit, accompanied by the 107th took the town, I rejoined them.”_

_“What did you do with the device in the meantime?”_

_“I attempted to deactivate it. Sadly, it was destroyed in my efforts.”_

_“Are you expecting me to believe that you, Captain America, not only left your men to fight without you, but also broke the highly valuable weapon that could have aided the Allies in the war effort?”_

_“It was the safest course of action, and I accept full responsibility and am willing to submit myself to disciplinary action.”_

_“Enough. I don’t know what to believe, Rogers, but it aint this horse crap you and your men have been feeding me! Do you think I don’t know what’s going on here? Now are you going to tell me what really happened out there or do I have to-”_

_“With all due respect sir, my story’s not going to change.”_

_“Write it up then, Captain, and prepare to explain yourself if HQ wants to know more.”_

  


On the march back, Agents Carter and Mitchell shared their story, with the Howling Commandos filling in the blanks from their end.

“Wait, so the thing we weren't sent out to steal because the Germans have too big a fancy for us is the same thing we stole in pretend as a decoy?”

“Yes.”

“And the only reason we stole it was because a spy had been reported in our camp so we had to copy the real mission?”

“Yep.”

“And the only reason we chose that town to steal from was because of Frenchie’s Resistance buddy wanted to smuggle out his girlfriend?”

“Yeah.”

“So the only reason we even succeeded was because of a German spy and a French mistress?”

“That and dumb luck, yeah.”

“Well, hell.”

“How would you phrase that in your report, Captain Rogers?” Mitchell asked wryly.

“Fortunate resolution of in-field complications leading to mission success.” Rogers answered instantly, to the unanimous mirth of the company. Agent Carter smiled at him.

“You’ve had a lot of practise writing reports like that, haven’t you?”

“With the Howlies? Yeah, most all my reports say that.”

After the laughter had died down, Agent Mitchell piped up again. “Why didn’t Herr Ashmuller tell us the nature of the device?”

“He probably didn’t think we would believe him.” Agent Carter said thoughtfully.

Morita scoffed. “Yeah, because after being held captive and forced to make weapons that don't just kill but vaporise what they hit, then rescued by a stage act in tights who’s been juiced up with the same voodoo as a man who can tear his face off at will and wants to take over the world…. we’re totally not going to believe a little something like this.”

“Wait, who tore their face off?” Agent Mitchell started,  looking up from where he was brushing dirt from the sleeve of his jacket.

“Schmidt.” Agent Carter supplied brusquely, as the crowd finally entered the encampment. “Now if you’ll excuse me gentlemen, I’ve got to figure out just how to word all of this in a report. Best you do the same Captain. I’m sure the Colonel is going to want to speak to all of you about this. Goodnight.”

Rogers murmured “Of course.” and Agent Carter veered left, leaving her cohort confused and alone in the company of the Commandos.

“Did she mean-”

“‘It’s why they call him the Red _Skull,_ ” Morita explained, clapping Mitchell on the back conspiratorially. “Come have a drink, we’ll tell ya all about it while we wait to be debriefed.”

“Still not convinced you can’t do that, by the way.” Barnes mused, looking at Rogers, eyeing the back of his head.

“Oh, is that why you stopped pulling my hair?” Captain Rogers asked, face deadpan, ducking away towards the command tent, but not moving so far away he couldn’t hear the response. Groans filled the air amid calls of “Pay up, Barnes!”.

“Dammit Rogers!” Bucky’s voice rang out from behind him, “you owe me a pack of cigarettes. And a tank!”

  
  


_OFFICIAL REPORT_

_Mission report October 1944_

_Retrieval of item by Agent Carter from Verdon unsuccessful as new intel had shown item moved from Verdon to Hargest before mission began. Retrieval of item by Cpt Rogers and Unit Howling Commandos from Hargest successful after deployment of decoy tactics. Item removed from occupied area and stored in SSR vault, Hampstead, LONDON._

  


Epilogue

 

2015

Smithsonian exhibit, Washington D.C.

Steve Rogers wandered around the darkened room looking at the exhibit, a catalogue of the Howling Commandos reign of successful missions, 70 years in the past. He stops at a photo of them all posing on graffiti-ed tank, next to a plaque and a map. Nat moves up next to him and peered at the map.

“I’ve been to Verdon, did you know it has a canal that flows nowhere? It’s quite a famous anomaly.”

“Really?” Steve said mildly, and Nat frowned at his expression, then turned and read closer.

“Last minute intelligence meant the Howling Commandos were able to retrieve Herr Ashmueller’s pivotal research from German possession with the assistance of Carter’s decoy unit and the backup of the fighting 107th.”

Steve scoffed.

“Is that not what happened?”

Steve laughed. “Well that depends on who you ask.”

“I'm asking you.”

“The army never heard the whole story.”

“Do tell.”

Steve laughed again. “Well, you know you were saying about that canal? What really happened was…”

  


FIN


End file.
